


Triple Step Nonsense

by FrenchTwistResistance



Series: I’ve Always Been Crazy But It’s Kept Me from Going Insane [8]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, I just want caos to be a sitcom where hot middle-aged ladies kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22675516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchTwistResistance/pseuds/FrenchTwistResistance
Summary: Hilda’s a highly desired dance partner.
Relationships: Hilda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Series: I’ve Always Been Crazy But It’s Kept Me from Going Insane [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597594
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	Triple Step Nonsense

Hilda’s painting Sabrina’s nails as they all lounge around in their jammies on a quiet cold Saturday evening watching a marathon of sassy lady best friend movies where somebody dies of a mysterious movie disease for drama rather than because they necessarily have to. 

They’ve finished Steel Magnolias and are about halfway through Beaches when the telephone rings. They nose goes to see who will have to answer and even though she gets a little varnish on her cheek, Hilda doesn’t lose the game. It’s Ambrose because he’s been too distracted singing along to “Otto Titsling.” He pauses the movie, and Zelda tsks at him.

“Oh be a sport. You know it’s his favorite scene,” Hilda says.

In fact, it’s everyone’s favorite scene, and they begin talking about it quietly as Ambrose takes the phone call:

“I just wonder what the rest of the musical was about,” Sabrina says.

“One must wonder if ‘Oh Industry’ and ‘Otto’—” Hilda pointedly refuses to say his last name “—are from the same show.”

“Some sort of pastiche, perhaps?” Zelda says. “Personally, I think it’s different plays entirely.”

Ambrose covers the receiver with his hand, stage whispers with comically suggestively raised eyebrows,

“Auntie H. I believe it’s that Southern Belle of yours.”

Sabrina gasps, says,

“Miss Kingston?! She’s got it bad for you! Ever since that NHS rainforest thing she’s been asking about you, trying to act all casual but failing and blushing every time!”

Zelda laughs:

“Be careful, sister. Juggling too many irons in a fire usually results in a burn.”

Sabrina cocks her head at that, and Ambrose and Zelda share a look, and Hilda says,

“Why can’t my business just be my business?!” and she abruptly caps the nail polish and hustles over to take the phone from Ambrose and slips into the hall.

“Hello?” Hilda says, wondering which hot iron it will be, and in the background she hears the movie resume.

“Hello. I. I’m sorry to bother you on the weekend.” It’s real Kingston, and Hilda settles slightly against the wood paneling.

“Don’t you dare suggest you could ever be a bother,” Hilda says. There’s a shy sigh on the other end and then,

“Oh, well, thank you. I— I know how offended you were when I didn’t ask for your help with the bake sale, and I didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

“Oh? That’s very thoughtful of you. What would you like me to bake this time?”

There’s a pause, a breath, static.

“It’s um not that. It’s. Well I guess we go to the same gym. I saw you leaving a Zumba class the other day. So I supposed you’d be a good dancer. I mean. That was just more evidence. You move so well that I already suspected.”

Hilda gulps. She’s not sure where this is heading, but she’s intrigued, and her stomach is fluttering.

“I’m not sure I’m following, Miss Kingston.”

“Well um. You’re a very involved parent, so I’m sure you know that the ninth grade class does a comprehensive World War Two unit that culminates in a USO dance. And this year I’ve been asked to demonstrate the Lindy Hop and I need a partner to do that and— Well. I thought maybe you’d know it already.”

Hilda has a very vivid flash of herself in spectator pumps being swung under Miss Kingston’s legs, those taut arms sure and strong against her. She shakes herself out of it.

“You thought right,” Hilda says, more flashes flashing of actual memories of USO dances. She’d been a popular dance partner back then, and it’s heartening to know she’s still perceived that same way.

“Wonderful! So um. It’s the first Saturday of next month, but I figure we should practice before then…”

“Yes of course.”

“And I have hardwood floors, so maybe you could— come over sometime?”

“I’d love to,” Hilda says.

“You promise you won’t hate me if I step on your toes at first?”

“I'm a very forgiving person, and I’m sure you’re a quick study,” Hilda says even as she’s thinking about Miss Kingston’s deltoids flexing as the two of them move together intimately.

“We’ll see,” Miss Kingston says with a flirtatious edge to her voice. “Tomorrow at seven?”

xxx

“I’ve got a new crossbow. Would you like to help me adjust the strings?” Mary says. She makes it sound so dirty.

Hilda’s pacing in the kitchen as she talks to Mary on the phone.

Hilda says,

“Of course. I can meet at your place after school tomorrow.”

Mary huffs, says,

“I was thinking tonight.”

“I’m not available tonight.”

“Not available?” Mary says, and Hilda can imagine the face she’s making: haughty and entitled and flabbergasted.

“Previous plans,” Hilda says.

“Oh,” Mary says. “Well. Feel free.”

“As if I need your permission,” Hilda says. “You yourself said—”

“Don’t,” Mary says. “Don’t explain and don’t apologize. Neither of us want that.”

The line is silent. Maybe dead. But Hilda tries,

“And what do we want, exactly?”

Another silence but then Mary’s voice:

“Whatever’s convenient.”

Dial tone.

xxx

Hilda’s still panting from the exertion. She sits heavily in a metal folding chair and takes a sip from her plastic cup of punch.

She’d been done up proper with victory rolls and a belted shirt dress and t-strap pumps and cherry red lipstick. And Miss Kingston had somehow acquisitioned a genuine WAF flight suit, which she had, over the course of the evening, unzipped to reveal her sweaty tank top and luscious shoulders as they had danced increasingly athletically. 

Sure, Hilda had been recruited initially ostensibly because of her assumed adeptness at Lindy Hop, but she knew all the period dances. It was assumed she knew them because she was a good dancer, but really she knew them because she’d been there, experienced them first hand. Back then, she’d been chosen as dance partner because she was so kind and open rather than having any special skill. There were plenty of women back then who were better at the steps. Hilda had been mediocre at best.

But now. 

But now is different because she’s lived so long and can remember so much.

It’s different but so much the same. An attractive partner cajoling her, pawing at her, expecting more from her.

Miss Kingston deposits herself into a metal folding chair next to Hilda.

“Thanks again,” Miss Kingston says. “I’d never have been able to pull this off without you.” Miss Kingston flutters her eyelashes, looks down at the floor. “If I’d asked anyone else it wouldn’t have been believable.”

“Dancing is just dancing,” Mary Wardwell says.

The woman is suddenly there, hovering above them.

“Doesn’t mean much,” Mary continues.

xxx

Hilda’s in the backseat of Mary’s Lincoln Towncar, splayed out and ready.

And Mary is between her legs, mouth pressed against her center.

Mary licks and sucks and licks again and then says,

“Better than dancing?”

Hilda clutches at Mary’s hair, says,

“Maybe.”

Mary redoubles her efforts.

“I’m the only one who can make you feel this way,” Mary says.

“You wish,” Hilda says.


End file.
